in the moment.

in the moment.

a conjuration-
I am-
suddenly found ‘midst
an unusual sun shower
a downpour
of cherry blossom petals
a shame,
for they will never feel
the real kiss
of the true summer sun
so I must
for them

notes… this is what haiku is to me, not the form, the beauty. I was going to my car after work in the blah industrial section of Hackensack , NJ where I work, there are cherry blossoms lining the side street, warehouses line both sides, but yet… cherry blossoms are the there, in line, that attract the wild birds of the area, such as they are, we even get quaker parrots from time to time, so, there I was, in the middle of a storm, of petals… and I took a moment to inhale and observe, beauty is there in daily things.. just take a second and look for it…

a spring haiku… for you…

a spring haiku… for you…

so I was getting out of work, about 7pm today, I worked late last night, got home past 1:30 in the morning, such is my life, not a complaint, just description for your edification, I was working last night in the bronx upgrading a supermarket computer system, I think people hear “the bronx” and have wildly different mental images, the bronx is as bad as you have heard and nicer than you may have heard, it all depends on where you are, I was in the morris park section, which (like Arthur Ave) is an old Italian section, so lots of lawns converted to concrete statues and such… but really a well kept nice neighborhood, anyway, back to today, our office is in Hackensack NJ, not exactly scenic, by any stretch, perhaps to a blind man with no sense of smell, but I digress, our warehouse/office is across from another (like an ugly mirror), so on the side street I was parked between the two buildings, for some reason, for some providence, the two owners planted cherry blossoms on both sides in parallel lines, much like washington DC if you have been, or even more local here in Jersey… so anyway, I took a moment to stop, ignore the concrete ugliness and take all this in (some deep breaths)…. and the words wrote themselves… which reminded me that this is spring…

white cherry blossoms
the first, are racing to bloom
the birds are singing

Notes.. I suppose I should have snapped a photo or two… maybe I will, but this does speak to the idea of adding beauty to the urban canvas… it works.

a quick wink.

a quick wink.

descent;
soaking in the last breaths
of the smoky slumber sun
sets.

Notes… just a quick glance at the sky while driving home, even after some forty odd years on this globe I can still be amazed, the days are nearly never the same, sometimes the paint up there is just different, all just moments, snap shots, moving pictures, shorts really, all stitched together in the feature that is our life, so sometimes you have to sit back and watch the dailies to see how the whole project is going…

in the know (the crows)…

in the know (the crows)…

crows on the rooftop there-
what are they trying to tell me?
(light signals switch, black eyes twitch- looking)
they are not permanent residents
at least not in this noisy cloister murder contingent;
occupying whole oak tree and surround
what is so special about this house (now)
what draws them so here and near
why do they understand better than I
they possess any land, under, the flown sky

notes… sometimes, OK, often I look out the window… and wonder, what draws a crowd, what is the call, what am I missing? something? or nothing more than a dinner bell? or deeper?

storms like tides…

storms like tides…

no, quite literally
just moments ago
or an hour, who can be sure
the skies were black with rage
and blazing flash
rain highway sideways, pelting the windows

so temporal, all this
so trapped in moments, we become

for oh sun, now shines
how light is cast against darkness

in contrast
I feel the despair leeching out of very my skin
as if being pulled out string by string
by an invisible, palpable, force of hand – yes
and quite suddenly
I am transformed
long forgotten, the storm

First Light… (a herald)

First Light… (a herald)

“first light

first light
‘ning bug,

tonight
for spring
has truly

gone,
fuzzy
lantern
dangling
hovering
flashing

signaling,
a hazy bulb
with a halo
wavering in
the humidity-
a diffused lens

notes… the air is like a hot towel, more like the hanging days of august than the late hours of june… but this is now, so it is, even night does not bring rest, or a reprieve, the air wants to sit like a moist heavy sleeve, just soaked enough to cling to your skin, just enough to let a breeze be revelation – for a moment’s notice that is…. and then I see them, through the mist of watering my plants, little bells of light, a delight in other times, a child’s mind, bio luminescent beings floating in the ether, either I am dreaming or summer has arrived….
blue ‘phin

blue ‘phin

Photo by Guillaume Hankenne on Pexels.com

in the miles of the blue
pointed eyes navigate the blur
imagine skimming
skipping along
like a trance
or a song
spinning through the air
darting among
with thrush
and a rush,
bobbing for air
when the need arise
coursing, like a vein
these are the days of pure freedom
swimming in unison
with my brethren
in these miles of the blue
stretched out in all directions

notes… I think the music fits the feel of this one… of course I am partial, I am me you know, this is my blog so…
rain dance…

rain dance…

Photo by Binyamin Mellish on Pexels.com

I wish the whimsical
I pray, I dance
on the drum skins of the old gods
lying forgotten in the thunderlands
I shout out, in trance
to transform this grassy prairie
into the bounty of lush forestlands
may brooks break the backs of the deep plates
and carve-cut out the roadways
for life to venture out upon
quench the sponge until overflow
from bird to bee, proliferation
all manner of life, let this be

notes… one of those that snuck into my skull, I found myself in ancient america at the foot of the grasslands, and wondered what it would have looked like if forest had extended outward coast to coast.. so this is that work…

find your place, a nook, an escape, if even for a moment…

find your place, a nook, an escape, if even for a moment…

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

on calming waters
the ripples freeze-frame slide and hypnotize
a gull, on a rock, outcrop
two swans act as ostriches of the loch
the simplicity; the serenity;
moves me, sways me, fades me
on calming waters
distorted reflections like impressionist paintings
another world lies, there a-waiting,
to dive in and cleanse my soul,
shed my common clothes-
for a-while,
the hands of the mother, curved earth basin
cupped vessel filled with the universal
for water is life revealed in a mirror
from which we walked, from which we waked
from which we came; yes
on calming waters
a goose and child forage grass-ed edge
unaware of politics or the foibles of men
for this sense ties not to clocks
but perhaps to ancient sun dials,
sweeping ripples, eyes to follow
one by one, out to the horizons
gone, like my words- fallen to the shore
how many have whispered, the worship here before
and let their depths be drowned
for spirit rise, to be cleansed
for the return, to the dominion of men.

only to fall back, into the mud brick laying
the paving, straw and mud, and the modern spoke turning
the drudgery of construct- a yoke
until again
those calming waters call
until then, until that baptismal pause
shall bring renewal, from mother’s hand

notes… so I wrote this in the parking lot of a church, it was raining so I didn’t get out of the car, but this is my spot, right on the franklin lakes reservoir, it is my spring, my fountain, a spot I can go to and escape the every day right under the thumb of the every day, so I recommend you find one… or better two… or nine, sanctuary to let nature drain the stain of normal life off your pelt… it helps…

forsythia (and a treatise on spring)

forsythia (and a treatise on spring)

Photo by LExie Blessing on Pexels.com

forsythia,
my dear, my consort
cast out upon the land
a golden plume
a golden mane
the stirring locks of ostara herself
harbinger of spring
message received
for you are truly born of the stars
from your roots rise sunrise up upon this earth-
rejoice!
spring’s sweet songs do awaken.

for spring is a procession of progression
cherry blossoms bathe the path in white to lavender and all manners up to purple, urban planning has them lining the streets in rows like a royal parade celebrating victory over the great winter – for at least a time, and short lived they will fall like confetti littering the street on the day after, the daffodils, holding golden cups sky-upward ready to brim with the coming rains, those same rains will flatten them as they nourish the rest of the surely coming green flourish, the ramps, onion cousins, or maybe garlic uncles, no, more like tiny onions, their chive clump headdress pokes through looking like unruly fits of grass, spring onions – yes, they are known to check in with such a name in certain establishments, the arcs of forsythia, golden arches with no drive thru, inspired in such golden rod as to make midas blush, the mornings are filling with song and sun, Ostara winks as her womb births the dawn of hope, and so I do, spring is hope, hope is spring, and then the worn hot complacency of summer sets in, burns out all the green, and then the world must sleep once more to regain, to regenerate, to be born once again – better to enjoy this now, the colors, the procession, the daily progress of life bursting to be seen, yes, take in the scene.